Georgia Peaches and Other Forbidden Fruit Read Online Free PDF Page A

“First block. Mr. Patel. Business computer. You come here after assembly.” He leads me thusly from door to door, until he’s convinced I know where I need to go.
    â€œDo we have any classes together?” I ask.
    B.T.B. shakes his head and it’s the first time I see his smile falter. “No. Me and the other peers are all in Mr. Ned’s class. It’s for kids like us.”
    â€œElephant-loving kids?”
    â€œYes!” B.T.B. shouts and the grin comes back. “But”—he leans down in a whisper—“I can have lunch with you, since you’re my peer.”
    â€œI’d like that very much, B.T.B., especially since you’re my only friend at this school.”
    As I take a quick glance around at all the normal-looking, red-blooded, definitely hetero kids, hanging out with a kind, simple guy like B.T.B. might just be my best-case scenario.
    At the assembly I send a clandestine text to Dana.
    In the lion’s den. Pray for me.
    One good thing about Dana is, underneath her party girl exterior and her smartass comments, she doesn’t really scoff at my need for faith. If anything, I think she has a longing, a wish, for her own place of acceptance. But church scares her, I get it; some so-called Christians are assholes to girls like us. Which is what makes this radio show I’m giving up my life for so important. I want her to feel equally accepted, whether in a faith community or at a Tegan and Sara concert.
    I look around the gym. Each class level sits together in a different section. Because B.T.B. had me sit with him, we’re kind of in a group to ourselves.
    â€œDid you know elephants are scared of bees?” he asks.
    I nod. “Yeah, I heard something about that.” I add one of my own to up my B.T.B. cred. “Did you know, besides us, elephants are the only mammals that have chins?”
    B.T.B. gifts me with his broad smile, but then he puts a finger to his lips. “Now we’re quiet. Teachers.”
    As the principal lays out the groundwork for this new and exciting year, I check out the senior section. Out of habit, I look for the alt kids, the ones I’d typically try to hang with. I find them, sitting toward the top of the bleachers, slumped and laughing. One girl, more goth than the others, catches me looking and does that kind of shoulder thrust, hands out, what the hell are you looking at motion. It’s going to be a while before I’m used to people’s reactions to this new version of myself.
    This lying-low thing might be easier than I thought.
    After school I drive over to Dad’s new ministry headquarters. A radio ministry is not really like a church. It’s more like a radio station with a control room and microphones and a tiny recording booth where Dad delivers his sermons. People do stop in, though, curious, hoping to meet Reverend Gordon in the flesh, so the front room is decked out like a parish hall with cushy furniture, pamphletsabout the ministry, copies of Dad’s most well-loved sermons. And, of course, donation forms for all that cash. In his defense, the ministry does donate a lot of the income to our worldwide missions. Dad grew up super poor outside Baltimore, and I think the obsessive need to have an ultra-healthy bank account is the stain he can’t shake.
    â€œHey, Althea.”
    Althea runs the front room with a velvet hand. She consoles and cajoles. Flirts and comforts. Dad says she’s almost like a seer, she’s so tuned in to what the faithful need in a given moment. I just love her because she loves me. I guess she’s as close to a grandmother as I have now. Though she’s way more stylish than your typical grandmom.
    â€œWell, look at you!”
    I plop into the chair behind the reception desk with her. “God. Don’t, okay?” It’s bad enough Dana’s all focused on my appearance—I don’t need it from Althea, too.
    â€œDon’t